Different
by PlantMurderer
Summary: Cadvan thinks about Maerad, himself, and the realities of being different, as he lays recovering at Nelac's house. set at the end of The Naming after they arrive at Nelac's home and before Maerad sees him awake later.
1. Different

Cadvan was alone. That was the first thing the he noticed, followed shortly by the warm bed that he was laying in and the familiar feel of being in Nelac's home. He woke slowly as his memories of the past days came to him. They'd arrived in Norloch, Nelac had healed him, and then he had slept. Maerad and Hem were fine and probably somewhere in the house.

He tried to organize his thoughts. The moment would come soon when Saliman and Nelac and others, the First Circle of Norloch not being the least, would need to know certain parts of their tale. When that time came it would be imperative for him to be able to communicate it without hesitation and with enough knowledge of his own heart to conceal his feelings, if he should need to. Would he? Maerad was an enigma in more ways than one. Had there ever been a being who drove him to such lengths before? She frustrated him, amazed him, scared him, and much else besides.

He remembered his first sight of her. She had looked slightly out of place as she milked the cow in that worn down cowbyre in Gilman's Cot. Her dark hair and blue eyes set against the paleness of her face had drawn his attention, then she'd seen him, and their adventure had begun.

Maerad was…different. That was the best word that Cadvan could find for her, and it marked them as kindred spirits in a way. He'd always thought of himself as different. He'd been different as a child in Lirigon, even before coming into the Speech. In his mind's eye, he pictured the little boy with dark hair who could scarcely decide between the adventures of his older brothers and those of days gone before. He had been a well-rounded child, as likely to cause mischief as to read about it, and looking back at the way he had sought after music and lore, he wondered if perhaps his parents had suspected the great and terrible truth of his gift.

There are many throughout time who have pointed out the flaws involved in dreams of life without end. They have spoken of watching loved ones die, of becoming irrelevant to the world around oneself, of seeing the sun set on the time that was allotted for a life and facing the cool, dark, strangness of the forever that lies beyond the place where that life should have ended. Cadvan understands their points.

How much different is a lifetime extended by two spans from one that is eternal when so much that was loved is gone after the first of those spans? Cadvan saw his parents and his brothers and his sisters wither and die like flowers. They ran towards the Gates, while Cadvan could only follow slowly, burying the pain of their losses like stones in a garden, stones that would never be seeds no matter how long they were watered by his tears. He avoided his nieces and nephews without meaning to. The span of three lifetimes gives time to witness three generations. Cadvan had seen enough after only one, at least as far as the family of his birth was concerned.

There was however another type of family. The once foreign world of the Bards and their Schools had welcomed him. Nelac, and Saliman, and Dernhil, had welcomed him. Malgorn, and Silvia, and others too had welcomed him. He'd formed for himself a kind of family stretched across Edil-Amarandh. There were so many kind hearts in the lands he had wandered. The Light and the Speech had returned all that they'd taken. If he had not been a Bard, he would have missed all that he now fought for. He'd never have seen and done so many of the things that had shaped him. He'd have never met with this strange young waif to who would soon bear the weight of a world only barely her own.

Maerad.

So many of his musings seemed to circle back to her, the last love of a dear friend, the last daughter of a fallen School, the last hope for the Light. She was so young and so unused to the concept of her own freedom, her own power; a young Bard with such potential, and yet so unlike his Ceredin. Where she had been trusting, Maerad was cautious. Where she had preferred weaponry, Maerad preferred books and studying. Yet, by the Light, he could not help but begin to see why Dernhil had found himself rushing in his advances towards her. He could not help but hope that this young woman might be the Fated One, Elednor, if only so that he might have reason to linger with her.

Already, in her presence, he had born witness to the hidden the sacred, and the impossible. He had seen Ardina, and the city of Rachida, and he had survived encounters with both a kulag and a wight of the abyss as a result of his powerful and astonishing Charge. Who would not hope to continue traveling with one who made for so fantastic a journey? She was different. Touched by the wildness of the elementals, the pride and power of the house of Karn, and the very hands of fate how could she not be? Brave where others faltered, stronger than even she knew, how could Maerad not be different?

As Cadvan lay there, resting and thinking, it occurred to him that if and when they met with the Bards of Norloch's First Circle they would have to convince them of Maerad's difference. They would have very little time to see what others had had days and weeks to observe. For some moments Cadvan wondered if it might take some inner oddity of one's own to see difference in others. He dismissed that thought. The men and women of the First Circle were rare individuals of power and certainty, they were different. Even if they were not, Cadvan and Maerad were; and in the best and worst of ways. Because of that, the Dark could never truly hope to win the war.

As Cadvan began drifting slowly back into sleep, he thought, with a sad smile, that it was good that Maerad was different, especially from himself. Perhaps she would avoid the mistakes he'd made, would never be tempted by the Dark or take an innocent life. Perhaps she might come through this war unmarked and perhaps Cadvan would live to see that. He slept and dreamed of a time beyond pain and grief, a time to express the feelings that were beginning to stir in him towards this extraordinary girl. He dreamed of a time that was different.

* * *

Hey everyone, I had some free time and I wrote this rather than study. So, I finally wrote about Cadvan. How'd I do? Please tell me, because while I do intend to go back to writing about minor characters it's good to know whether or not I can get more major characters right.

The idea for this fic took over my brain while I was re-reading The Naming for the first time and I had to write it before I went insane.

Thanks as always to my reviewers and alert people, and even you phantoms that read these and never quite seem to review so I know that you're there. You all rule, some more than others.

Thanks and see you next fic. (maybe one about either Silvia for BTW or a one shot about Ardina, not sure yet)


	2. Post Encounter

_I'd hoped that she was going to be different._ That thought drifted often through Cadvan's mind, like a chant for a Bard who had died, a lament for her innocence or his hope for her. It had only been days since their encounter with the Bards and Cadvan had no words. He looked over to where Maerad lay sleeping. Earlier that evening he'd tried to speak with her about the growing darkness he could see forming within her and it had ended, as so many of their conversations did lately, in conflict.

In retrospect, Cadvan supposed that it was partially his fault. He had often traveled alone in his life and was not used to considering the feelings others, or how they might be affected by his silence. Maerad had felt as though he'd been punishing her, and that he'd been scorning her for going too far in their defense. Her resentment had shown him something of her fears but there was still so much that her pride hid from him.

The situation was troubling. There was a growing darkness within her and that was dangerous not only for her, but for Edil-Amarandh as a whole. If Maerad was lost to the Dark, everything that made her good, everything that gave her hope of being the one to save them from the Nameless One and the forces amassing at Den Raven would be lost as well. He thought about the girl who had seen the innocence in a stormdog. He had no idea how he might begin to make sense of the girl who could see the lack of malice in a beast as it nearly sent them drowned and broken to the bottom of the sea, but who would also kill another Bard over a stunning blow.

His charge was Bard and Elidhu; possessing the powers and the morals of both. _Who am I to teach her to be one thing or the other?_ He wondered. He remembered her as they'd sailed away from the Isle of Thorold, in the moonlight she'd looked like the Queen Ardina, the moon's daughter. The wildness in her had been as visible as the glow that marked her as a Bard. _What have I been doing?_ _Am I right to teach her as others with the blood of Elementals have been taught, to be a Bard and use ones power sparingly, to think always of the Balance and the thousands of rules we use to protect it? _Should her Elemental powers be governed by those same rules? So many who employed those were beyond the rules and Knowing of the Bards and Schools. In the long past days of Afinil, the Bards and Elidhu had lived peacefully amongst each other. It was that fact alone that gave Cadvan hope that his young charge might find a way to reconcile the parts of herself in time. Dark and Light, Bard and Elidhu, woman and child, slave and free, so many opposites within her, more than most, and it made it hard for Cadvan to know just how to approach her.

It hurt him to think that she felt used and alone, or that she was so afraid of herself. She'd accused him of much in their argument earlier. She'd thought that he was attempting to call her "evil" or to put her on the same level as a hull. She'd accused him of calling her things that he himself had been called in his earlier forays onto the dark.

Maerad was different. She didn't want power but she had it in spades. She commanded so much Light, but had seen so little of it in her time. Where Cadvan had been drawn into the Dark, Maerad seemed to be sinking, weighed down by the burden that fate had placed on her, so afraid of the love that could lighten her burdens and remind her of the goodness that she was working to protect. She was slipping into the Dark and Cadvan was at a loss as to how he might help her to find solid ground in the Light. Talking to her hadn't worked, her insecurities had seen to that. Perhaps he'd simply have to try to help her through them first. Perhaps it was time that he remembered that, for all her differences, Maerad was still a young girl. She was far from any place she might call home, she missed her brother, and the only constant companion she could claim was just as often scared and awed by her as any other she might meet.

Whatever he did he'd have to do it soon, in addition to seeing that they avoid detection from both Light and Dark, and deciphering the mysterious treesong.

The night was cold and the dark seemed ever present and unending as Cadvan watched Maerad sleep_. _The memory of her actions came back to him. She'd taken a life, in spite of all his hopes that she might be different. _ Dernhil can you love her now, as you sit and watch from beyond the Gates? Milana, what can you think of your daughter? What must you think of me, for not being a better teacher? Ceredin, another innocent life is gone because of my ineptitude and my student's poorest judgment. Even years later I shame your memory… _

Maerad turned in her sleep. Now Cadvan could see her face and it was hard to rationalize the horror of her actions with the innocence that he feared might never again touch her waking face. She was beautiful. If she was lost to the Dark it would not be only the Light that lost her, it would be Cadvan as well. He could not sit idly by and watch another innocent person, another bright mind and loyal heart, be lost.

Maerad was going to be different. There was no more "hoping" that she would be different, no more trusting in the miracles that sprang up to meet her like tall grasses after a strong wind. There was only the absolute certainty of a Bard, of a man, who would make the sun rise in the west and the tides turn by the sun if it would help in his efforts. Maerad was going to be different, in spite of her resentment and what she'd done. He swore it.

* * *

Hey guys, I am still alive! I took a rather long break to work on a twilight fanfic (which is still in progress) but I'm on vacation with my family and rereading The Riddle and felt like it was time to get back to my favorite fandom. I'll try to divide my time a bit more evenly in the future.

Speaking of the future, I'm planning on doing a fic about Ardina next, thought I can't say when I'll get to it…. thank you for reading and I apologize for disappearing for a while.

Reviews are very much appreciated and please remember that I'm sort of out of practice writing for Pellinor so…wound me if you must but save the salt for next time ;)


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